


Lost and Found

by GlutuipGapaar



Category: Monster of the Week (Tabletop RPG), Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Autism, Canon Autistic Character, Gen, Latino Character, Mexican Character, Modern Era, Monster Hunters, Monster of the Week, Monsters, Muteness, Mystery, New York City, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29115060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlutuipGapaar/pseuds/GlutuipGapaar
Summary: (Publishing just the prologue for now to test the waters.  Let me know what y'all think!)Pacifica Ramirez did her best to live an ordinary life.  Monsters and specters had followed her little family ever since she was a little girl, but somehow, she and her father had managed to scrape by in the big city.  But everything changed when her father disappeared into thin air.  Now, Pacifica must wander far away from the home she knew so well, combing through the meager clues left to track him down.





	1. Prologue

November 14, 1997

Esteban Ramirez hadn't expected his life to fall apart that day. Life had always been chaotic for him. That could have been because of their proximity to America. It could have all been Reagan's fault. Or it could have just been his own rotten luck. But today was just the icing on his cake. If someone had snatched the cake from him, thrown it on the ground, and then laughed at him as he tried to scrape it up with his bare hands. 

Selena was gone. Not even an apology, not even a phone call. Just a note left on the table. She said she needed to follow her dreams of music, that she'd left her passion behind for too long. Esteban didn't believe it for a second. But he was the type to guess the real reason. Work with the paper had been tight. People just weren't into rumors and ghost stories anymore. Maybe there was some truth to the talk of a better future. Esteban didn't lead the most exciting life. Maybe there was some truth to the talk of fame and fortune. 

But Selena had never wanted kids. Even when she had reconsidered the notion, usually over a drink or two, she’d talk about the perfect son. But a daughter was never in the plan. Selena may have been old fashioned enough to think that a daughter wouldn't carry on the family line. But apparently, she wasn't old fashioned enough to stick around and raise her own child. Bitch. 

Had it not been for all of this, Esteban couldn't imagine being caught dead here. Actually, being caught dead here was exactly what he feared. But money was tight. And he wanted some things off his mind anyway. He heard the jingle of a bell over the door as he walked into one of the countless First Cash stores scattered throughout Tijuana. The store was quiet, but the store’s clerk, a wiry older man, jumped up from his chair with a start. He met Esteban’s eyes with an uncanny, fearful intensity, before he composed himself, and sat back down. "Evening," the man said curtly. "How can I help you?"

Esteban chuckled to himself. "Rough crowd recently?"

The man shook his head. "No no, nothing like that. Just uh… been having some trouble sleeping."

Esteban took a few jewelry cases from a messenger bag, slipping his ring off and adding it to the mix. "How much can I get for these?"

The man slid them across the counter, opening each case and eyeing the jewelry. While he inspected them, Esteban looked around the store. Mostly, the place was filled with junk. Dinged up bicycles, scraped up leather jackets, generic cassette tapes. But places like this couldn’t keep everything up front. Esteban glanced up at the clerk, just as he laid the last necklace back into its case. "Sorry, man, but it's all costume jewelry. I could maybe give you… 12,000 pesos for it all. And that's mostly for the ring."

Esteban narrowed his eyes. "You're shitting me… this necklace was worth that much when my grandmother bought it. Look at these sapphires, there's no way that's fake!"

"That's how they get you," the clerk said, pulling up another necklace from the display case, sapphire like his own, but set in tarnished silver. "Real gems aren't completely see-through, they're just a little bit cloudy. You see?"

Esteban shook his head. Bullshit. This was all bullshit. He should have never come to this sham. "Come on, man, you've gotta help me," he said. "If you can't give me the money I need, maybe we can make a trade? I’m sure you’ve got something you’re not showing me…"

The store clerk looked nervous. But he could also see opportunity in those eyes. “You’re not a fuckin’ cop, are you?”

Esteban raised his eyebrows. “Do I look like a cop?”

“I mean, they usually don’t,” the clerk replied, with a tired shrug. “But you seem like a weasely little guy. I could probably take you.” He reached behind the counter, grunting as he heaved a massive, scuffed leather briefcase up onto the counter. He popped it open, giving Esteban one last wary look before spinning the case around. Inside was a tight collection of firearms, definitely smuggled, but from God knows where was the question. Most of them were scuffed, cheap polymer, just barely more valuable than anything else in the place. But there was a case that stood out. You could practically see them from anywhere in the store. A pair of matching revolvers, their grips etched with filigree, wrapping around a skull in each handle. “Feel free to take a look. But tell anyone what I’ve got here, or try to run, and I’ll put you on the ground, eh?”

Esteban felt a bead of sweat drip down his temple, and nodded curtly. “Yep.” He knew damn well what he wanted here. But he didn’t want to make it obvious. String the man along, or else he wouldn’t get a damn thing out of this trade. He turned over a hunk of plastic in his hand, shaking it back and forth and listening to the clatter of interior bits. "Hmm… fine craftsmanship on this one. Very advanced. But, I suppose I could take those wheelguns off your hands. 5,000 pesos, and the pair?"

Honestly, that would have been bullshit too. They were old weapons, well used, but in remarkable condition. Peacemakers, perhaps? They'd made a few of those in the 70s, but hell, they could have been as old as the cowboys. Still. Hopefully, this clerk didn't know all that. He had to turn a profit today somehow. 

Esteban could hear the cha-ching in his mind as the clerk's eyes lit up. "Pleasure doing business with you!" Huh. That was odd. With unnatural energy, the clerk grabbed the pistols, giving them a twirl as he slammed them both on the counter. ".38 Especial. Hits hard, doesn't break the bank." Once the cashier had wrapped them both in butcher's paper, Esteban set the guns into his bag and pulled out his wife's old wedding ring, but the clerk interrupted. "Oh, no, friend, keep the ring. Trust me. I almost did the same thing when I got divorced. You'll see the value in it in time." Huh. That was  _ really _ odd. But he wasn’t about to ask any questions. Not when he had a deal like this on his hands.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks…  _ friend _ .” And with that, he turned, walking quickly out of the pawnshop, before either the clerk could realize the mistake he’d made, or some crony in the alleyway could sneak up behind him and bust his head in. But on he walked, and walked, and no crony ever came. He slipped one of the guns out of his bag, looking down at it with a clever smile. Yes sir. It looked like his luck had finally changed.

* * *

The cold night air hung over Esteban’s little trailer like a veil soaked in water. Esteban awoke with a start, his eyes darting around his bedroom. He hadn’t slept alone in a long time, and his meager little blanket didn’t keep out the cold like it used to. Glancing towards the window, he could see the light of a full moon pouring in. That must have been what woke him so suddenly. 

He groaned as he hauled himself out of bed, turning to look at the cradle across the room. A feminine figure in a long dress stood over his daughter's cradle, barely moving, not saying a word. Just crying.

Esteban rubbed his eyes, but was still too bleary-eyed to see much. "Selena? If this is supposed to be an apology, you'd better start talking." The woman didn't respond. Instead, she just leaned further over the cradle. Esteban stood to his feet, slowly walking closer. "If this is about money, you can forget it. You had your chance, now I've gotta provide for our little girl…" But even despite himself, he couldn't help but feel sympathy for her. He reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. But her shoulder was freezing to the touch, and soaking wet.

The woman spun around, screaming as her lips pulled back into an uncanny snarl. Esteban tried to step back, but was too slow to avoid the claws that raked across his chest. He held his hand to the wound, drawing his other hand back into a wild swing overhead. But his hand passed through the figure like nothing, slamming into the wall behind her as the junk on the dresser clattered to the floor. The figure turned, her feet barely connecting with the floor as she stepped closer, backing him up towards the wall. He reached blindly behind him, tossing aside his pillow and wrapping his fingers around the hilt of his bowie knife. He threw the knife, and it flew true, only to hit the back wall and fall to the ground behind the figure. But she stopped in her tracks, looking at him not so much in fear, but measured apprehensiveness, her sharp teeth still bared with the sound of a low growl. Esteban regained his footing, glancing frantically around him for any other options, any way to get his daughter and run. “I don’t know who, or  _ what _ the fuck you are,” he shouted, “but you need to leave  _ right _ now!”

The woman stood motionless, staring Esteban in the face as he took in, for the first time, her slick, black hair, and sunken, hollow eyes. She slowly leaned closer, her breath icy cold against his face. Then. She turned, drifting away from where he stood rooted beside the bed. Esteban felt his knees buckle, his hands landing on the bedside table as he collapsed, hyperventilating as he watched the figure slip away. But it was only then he realized she had turned right back to the cradle. He bolted to his feet, but faltered for a moment at the sound of paper crinkling under his hand. The guns. 

Whatever this specter was lifted her out of her cradle, passing quickly through the open door as her weeping grew louder. He tore one of the guns away from its wrapping, his hands shaking as he opened a box of ammunition, stuffing the cartridges into the cylinder and slamming it home. By the time he raised the gun, her figure was almost gone. But he only needed a split second. 

A fireball exploded from the end of the gun, knocking Esteban back a few steps, as he watched the figure dissolve into mist with one last howl. The bundle in her arms fell to the floor. He threw himself forward, dropping the gun, the pain in his chest, the fear, all forgotten as he bent down to pick up the little bundle of blankets on the ground, tears falling from his eyes. "Pacífica? Hey, baby, it's me, it's daddy. You're okay now. The bad lady is gone…"

He tucked a strand of her curly black hair away from her face, shuddering at the first sight of her. She had a pretty bad bruise on her face from the fall, but it was a miracle she hadn't suffered worse. He could see the terror and the pain in those big brown eyes of hers, and see the tears running down her cheeks. But still, she didn't cry. Esteban held her close to his chest, still heaving as the adrenaline left his body. He'd almost missed her entirely. He'd been this close to some… monster taking his baby girl away from him, with barely a sound. "Pacífica, baby… why won't you just fucking cry?"

* * *

Esteban Ramirez set down his newspaper, sipping a cup of hot coffee as he looked out at the bustling city streets. Even into the wee hours of the morning, taxis roared down the streets, horns honked, people made their way briskly down the narrow sidewalks, bundled up tight against the cold air. Yes sir, New York was nothing like Tijuana. Esteban couldn't help but think he liked it better here. But it had been… close to ten years, now. And he still hadn't totally adjusted.

Esteban had been writing tabloids about the things that went bump in the night since he was a teenager. But that fateful night was the first time he'd ever come face to face with such a thing. La Llorona. Where she came from, where she had gone, whether he would ever see her again, he never did know. But it didn’t stop there. Ever since he’d traded away his abuela’s sapphires for some iron, he’d been haunted by those things. He’d hoped that by getting away from Tijuana, he’d be able to leave it all behind, to just live an ordinary life with his baby daughter. But, wherever he went, the monsters followed. Still, he was at least able to get some of what he’d wanted. A fresh start, and a little bit of money in his pocket. 5,000 pesos meant fuck-all in the land of opportunity, but it was at least enough to sustain the two of them across the border. He was able to find a job with a paper downtown, live out of his car just long enough to sell it and start paying rent. Pacífica even started going to public school in Williamsburg, and at this point, she was teaching him more English than he could teach her, sign-language too. But, between the after-school programs for her condition, and his job, it was only on these early morning hunts that they got to spend much time together. 

He took a swig of his coffee, and glanced over to the little girl beside him, scribbling furiously in crayon on a kid’s menu. “Hey, Pacífica.  _ Vamanos _ , you ready?” But Pacífica did not look up from her drawing, something with big sharp teeth, and golden eyes. “Hey.  _ Muda _ . Look at me, okay?” She looked up at him, her brown eyes sparkling under the cheap diner lights. “That’s a beautiful drawing. But we have to go. You can finish when we get home.  _ De acuerdo? _ ” She nodded. Esteban tightened the strap of his bag and stood to his feet. He glanced behind him, and there she was, her backpack over-stuffed with supplies and hanging off her shoulders. He smiled, and slipped out of the diner, holding the door open as Pacífica skittered past him.

People had been disappearing from Brooklyn alleyways for the past few days. He'd overheard the chatter over police comms, and they were all stumped. No connection could be found between the victims, ethnically, economically, socially. In his mind, that ruled out a ghost. They were the type to hold oddly specific grudges. Plus, one or two had been found bitten and mauled. He had his hunches. The chances that this lead, that this particular alley, would amount to anything, were slim. But monsters had a way of finding him now, whether he wanted them or not. 

As he walked down the alleyway, he turned back to check on Pacífica. Still there, and slipping her hat down over her face. Just like he'd taught her. What a clever girl. He quickly brought his attention back to the alley in front of him, walking past a few people curled up on the pavement. He leaned against the back wall, setting his bags down off to the side, and chewing idly on a cigarette as the night passed. He looked up at the sound of quick feet down the sidewalk, watching a ragged looking man storm into the alley. The man paused, panting for breath as he collected himself. He started to pace slowly back and forth, muttering under his breath. He wasn't particularly pale, and he looked, as far as Esteban could tell, alive. But that wasn't a disqualifier, as far as vampires went. To be honest, he didn’t look that out of place at all on a Brooklyn back-street. But the man had been in an awful hurry to pace around in an alleyway. 

He slowly stepped forward, counting on Pacífica to know well enough to stick to the shadows. “Hey, friend,” he smiled casually, holding out a cigarette. “Looks like you could use a chill pill.”

The man spun around, his eyes almost impossibly wide as they locked on his. Esteban simply stared him down, taking a step back. Eventually, the man blinked, and laughed to himself. “S-sorry, man. You gotta give a guy a little warning this time of night.”

Esteban held up his hands. “It’s my bad. So. Cigarette?”

The man reached out, but hesitated. Esteban noticed the way his fingers twitched, almost like someone else was holding them back. And Esteban swore he saw blood under those fingernails. The man pulled away, looking around the alley with those wide eyes. “No thanks, man. Think I’m good.”

“Fair enough,” Esteban replied, tucking the cigarette back into his pocket.

"You know," the other man continued, scratching at his face, "I don't think I've ever seen you around here before. What are you doing just hanging around this time of night?"

"You know how this city is," Esteban replied, with a deep sigh. "Chews you up and spits you out. I hope to find a new place to call home out here. Hopefully start over."

"You said it," the other man laughed, coughing a little towards the end. 

It was only then that Esteban saw the blood in his mouth. "Get in a fight there? You've got some, uh—" he bared his teeth, drawing a line down his chin.

The man ran his finger over his teeth, drawing back and staring down at his hand. "Oh, no fight or nothing. Teeth are shot to hell." He paused, rifling his hands through his pockets. "I really ought to quit, I swear I will one of these days. But you need something to get by, you know?"

Esteban nodded. He was starting to get the sense he was on the wrong track here. Maybe this was just some poor lost soul abandoned by the big city. “Everyone needs something. Drugs, money, girls. Where I come from, more people turn to Jesus. But that seems laughable here.”

The man winced, taking a step back, looking at Esteban with wide, fearful eyes. “Are you, uh… a man of G… a man of f-faith?”

Huh. That was interesting. “Not exactly,” Esteban replied. He wrapped his hand more tightly around the stake in his sleeve. “Not going to preach at you, don’t worry.”

The man was panting for breath now, starting to pace the alley again. Esteban didn’t know what he’d said, but something had riled this guy up real bad. “I’ve done some bad shit, buddy… I dunno if… the man upstairs would want anything to do with me. And I sure as hell don’t want anything to do with him.”

“Okay, man, I’m not a fuckin’ priest; you can talk to them, not me.”

“I’m not going near the fucking church, man!” the man shouted, his brow furrowing into a blind rage.

“I’m not gonna make you! Jesus Christ, man, cal—”

“Stop. Saying. His  _ fucking  _ name!” With a cold-blooded roar, the man swung at Esteban, knocking him to the side against an old discarded dresser.

Esteban doubled over as the wood splintered beneath him, coughing as he lay stunned on the heap. The man approached, blood dripping down his bared teeth. He wiped a bit of his own blood from his lip and looked up into this man’s, no, this creature’s hungry eyes. “Okay, then. Hardball.” 

He threw his head forward against his attacker’s, his vision spiraling as he watched the creature reel back. He staggered to his feet, throwing a handful of salt towards the creature’s eyes. The monster lurched back, stunned for just long enough for Esteban to charge forward, slamming it against the alley wall. “Should have stayed in the ground,  _ cabrón _ .” His fist clenched around the wooden stake, and he drove it into the creature’s chest. 

The man convulsed, staring down at the stake in his chest as Esteban staggered back. He fought to catch his breath, waiting for this thing to collapse, to dissolve away into mist, to scream if nothing else. But it just stood there. And when it raised its head, its eyes weren’t wide and white in panic like they were before. They were black in fury. The creature reached down to its stomach, jerking the stake free from its gut with a gout of blood, and throwing it to the side. He took a slow step forward, the smoke in his eyes running down his cheeks as his lips curled back in a snarl. 

Esteban slowly stepped back, keenly aware that he was running out of alleyway behind him. He held out his hand behind him, fixing his gaze on the monster. “ _ Chica _ . Give me the book.” 

The monster thrust his hand forward, grabbing Esteban and lifting him into the air. Its hands tightened around his throat, looking up into his eyes as a maniacal chuckle bubbled forth. “I understand now… a hunter, are you?” the creature said, in a voice that roiled and churned over itself. He threw Esteban down to the ground, laughing as he watched him skid across the asphalt. “It seems your game has grown too big for the hunt… Esteban Ramirez…”

“Pacífica!” Esteban shouted, groaning as he stood to shaky feet. “Book, now!!”

The monster’s head jerked around as he watched an old leather-bound tome fly across the alleyway. Esteban needed only the moment’s distraction to snatch the book from the ground, fate guiding his fingers across the pages as he began to read. “ _ Princeps gloriosissime caelestis militiae, sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio adversus principes et potestates, adversus mundi rectores tenebrarum harum, contra spiritalia nequitiae, in caelestibus _ …” 

The creature’s unearthly scream echoed through the alley, jarring awake the few who still slept. It staggered back, clawing at its ears, looking wildly around the alley. “Where is she? I’ll kill her!! I’ll rip her limb from limb, do you hear me!? You’ll pay for this!!”

Esteban didn’t dare look away from the pages, rattling off the ancient verses as fast as his bleeding tongue could manage. “ _ Deprecare Deum pacis, ut conterat Satanam sub pedibus nostris, ne ultra valeat captivos tenere homines, et Ecclesiae nocere. Offer nostras preces in conspectu Altissimi, ut cito anticipent nos misericordiae Domini, et apprehendas _ —”

“ _ There _ you are…”

Esteban’s head jerked up. The monster strode forward, its diabolical smile fixed on a tiny girl at the end of the alley. Her eyes locked on his as she stood frozen, holding her backpack in front of her. There was no way he could reach her in time. He reached for his gun, aiming it at the back of the monster’s vessel as he stood his ground. “ _ Et apprehendas draconem, _ _ serpentem antiquum, qui est diabolus et Satanas _ …”  __ The creature faltered, collapsing onto its hands and knees. But its fury was focused straight ahead now, suicidal in intent. It ran straight at her on all fours, howling like a hound from hell, as Pacífica fell backward and screamed. “ _ Et ligatum mittas in abyssum, ut non seducat amplius gentes! Amen!! _ ” __

The monster flew through the air, its hands hooked like claws aimed towards Pacífica’s heart. But as the last words of the incantation left Esteban’s lips, the man’s silhouette disappeared into smoke, tumbling forward and pooling on the ground just short of where his daughter stood. As Esteban stepped forward, the book tucked underneath his arm, his gun aimed down at the center of the writhing smoke, he watched it rise into the air, leaving the man it had possessed bleeding on the ground.

“You threaten my daughter again,” Esteban snarled, cocking the hammer back, “and I will kill every  _ goddamned  _ one of you…”

The monster… the demon chuckled, gurgling weakly from its heart. “You’re a  _ fucking _ fool,” the voice said, the smoke billowing in the air. “Hell can’t contain us forever. You think you can cleanse this earth, but we’ll creep right back in. And now… I know your face… you, your precious little girl, no one you love will ever—”

The crack of divine thunder rang from the gun, embedding into the brick wall as the apparition scattered into the air. Esteban stood, frozen, as silence hung in the early morning air. He felt the wumph of a weight against his midsection, and looked down to see Pacífica’s head buried into his chest, her arms thrown around him. He holstered the gun, running his hand through her hair. “It’s okay,  _ chica _ .  _ Lo hiciste tan bien _ .” 

Just then, he heard the shuffle of something behind him. He slowly turned, locking eyes with a vagrant, shaken awake and seated against the wall. “Hey, you,” Esteban said, not letting go of his daughter. “He needs to get to a doctor, fast. Call 911.”

“What the hell, man?” the man said, heaving himself to his feet. “You fuckin’ stabbed him, either let him die or call the cops yourself.”

Esteban tapped Pacífica’s shoulder, and she let go, stepping back and wiping her nose. He slowly walked over towards the vagrant, who whimpered as he pressed himself back against the alleyway. “You saw what I saw,” Esteban said, pressing a finger into the man’s chest. “I saved his life. But the cops aren’t gonna get that,  _ eh _ ? Which means I can’t be here.” The man nodded. “If he dies… after I worked so hard to save him… I’ll be reeeeal pissed off.” He reached into his pockets, pulling out a couple of quarters. “Payphone, across the street. Make the call.”

The man stood frozen, looking down at the change in his hands, before he bolted across the street. Esteban took Pacífica’s hand, leading her quickly out of the alley, sticking to the busiest sidewalks they could find, walking for miles before they finally collapsed onto the steps of one of the apartment buildings lining the street. When they caught their breath, Esteban couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, that was a pretty good throw back there,” he said. “Maybe you should try out for softball.”

She smiled, looking up at the glow of the street lights filtering through the elm trees. She squinted her eyes, taking a deep breath as she pushed away from Esteban’s arms. “W… whe…” she shook her head, flapping her hands as she hummed to herself.

“No no no, that was good!” Esteban said, sitting up and gently grabbing her hands. “Remember what Ms. Quintanilla said, deep breaths, focus… and try again”

She nodded, breathing deeply, as Esteban let her hands go. “Wh… when do I get a gun?”

Esteban looked at her in shock. She just stared back at him, wringing her hands together to calm down, but otherwise looking as if this were a perfectly reasonable question. He laughed, giving her a pat on the shoulder. “When you’re ready, Pacífica. When you’re ready…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Whether you're here from the MOTW tag, or you've read my work before, you can probably tell that this is very different from my last big writing project. I don't think I've written a grittier-toned project since I tried to edit an old Halo fanfic from like... 2011. And even that attempt ended in 2017. So while this is a story I've been very eager to tell for a long time, it's also one I'm very apprehensive of getting into. I spent 2.5 years with a cutesy rom-com in hibernation, and I expect this to be a bigger undertaking in every dimension. All this being said, everyone's feedback will be super appreciated when it comes to making this venture happen. I'm excited to see what you all think. :)
> 
> -Glutuip Gapa'ar


	2. Chapter 2

May 20, 2018

Pacífica Ramirez breathed a deep sigh, smiling up at the ceiling as her face was bathed in warm summer sunlight. Exams were over. Her Recording Technology exam had been a bitch in and of itself, nevermind that the teacher scheduled it for 8 AM. But now, the end of the semester had come. It was moving-out day. She wasn’t really a people person, but she had to admit, she’d miss the people here. Some of them, at least. And she knew for a fact that without the routine of 9 AM classes Monday-Wednesday-Friday and 8:30s on Tuesday and Thursday, her life was probably gonna spiral out of control for at least a few days. But she was finally gonna see Papa again. 

She hadn’t been back home since the Spring Semester started, and they’d barely been able to visit since last year. She'd spent pretty much all winter break working on-campus, which was a miserable job. Of course, the two of them never missed Halloween. But other than that, they’d only been able to talk over text. But they still found ways to work together, even if she couldn’t be fighting the forces of darkness alongside him like back in the good old days. Esteban Ramirez, or _El Santo_ , as the rumors called him, was something of a legend in the underworld of New York City. He’d cleared an entire family of ghosts out of an old house in Staten Island, put a stop to a necromancer and his cult in Hell’s Kitchen, even outwitted a Hidebehind in the forests outside the city with a ring of mirrors. But the poor man didn’t have the tech savvy needed to keep up an online presence, or navigate even standard forums to hunt down cases and clues, much less to deal with the people who buried themselves away in the dark web, whether they were customers or criminals. That was where she came in. But it'd be nice to talk about something besides work when she got home. 

Her head perked up at the sound of suitcase wheels rolling across the floor. Brittany was at the door, suitcase in hand. “Oh, hey, Pacifica. I’m heading out. See you Fall, maybe?”

Pacífica cocked her head. "You know you don't have to leave until the end of the day, right?"

"Well, sure. But I wanna go home. I'm kinda tired of school after like, a whole year," she chuckled. "Besides, it's a long plane ride back to Virginia. Are you gonna stick around?"

Pacífica shrugged. "I mean. It'll be good to see Papa again. But I was just gonna… take a day to chill. Maybe play some Zelda."

Brittany shook her head. "You can play Zelda at home, Pacifica. You're crazy, you know that?"

Pacífica smiled, heaving herself off the bed. "I'm a music major."

"Worse," Brittany replied. “Guess I’ll see ya next semester, then.” And with that, she closed the door behind her. For a moment, the dorm was completely still. Pacífica could hear something shifting around in the room on the other side of the walls. She hoped it was somebody getting their luggage together. And not christening the beds one last time. Shit, she still needed to finish packing. Eh. Later. She plugged her Switch in by the TV and put on some music in the background, but before she could get comfy on the bed again, she heard a knock at the door. She groaned, setting her controller down and ambling towards the door, creaking it open. 

Octavia Marconi, dressed to the nines, as always, her long black hair brushed back, stood in the doorway, suitcases and all. "Hey! Bumped into Brittany on the way over. Is she heading out already?"

"Octavia! Hey!" Pacífica said, leaning against the door frame. Fuck, she wished she'd cleaned up a bit. "Yeah, she wanted to get home ASAP."

"And what about you?" Octavia replied with a smile. "You seem pretty cozy."

Pacífica blushed. "Guess I wanted to make the most of my last day here. Relax, for a change." She paused for a while. “What about you? You look ready to go. Except your cello.”

Octavia chuckled. “It’s a double bass, you _know_ that pisses me off. Besides, she’s a bitch to move around.” She glanced behind her into the hallway. “I was actually kinda thinking the same thing, about wanting to use our last day in town. But like, there’s a lot of touristy shit we haven’t even gotten to do, we’ve been so busy. I was wondering if you wanted to come along with me. As far as Chinatown, at least. But I don’t want to keep you from relaxing, you’ve been working pretty hard.”

Pacífica smiled, stepping back into the room. “Nah, you’re okay. You know… it’s still pretty early. You could hang out while I finish packing up, if you want. We could find a movie, and then head out, grab dinner, have you home before _nonna_ complains.”

Octavia rolled her eyes, closing the door behind her and hanging her jacket on the back of a chair. “Let me guess. Something spooky?”

“I mean, we don’t have to,” Pacífica replied, looking away. “I could just try and get everything—”

“No no, hey, Pac, it’s fine,” Octavia said. “Sure, you have weird taste in movies. But I like that you’re a little weird. You could have been like Brittany,” she smirked.

“A business major?” Pacífica replied. They both gagged in unison. 

“What I _mean_ to say,” Octavia continued, “is that we can watch whatever you want.”

Pacífica’s eyes lit up. “Even Monster Ball 2?”

“Goooddd, Pacífica,” Octavia groaned. “I get that it’s your favorite movie, but you must have seen that like 7 times this semester. Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

“It’s _so_ cheesy,” Pacífica grinned. “But like, some of the monsters are actually really realistic!”

“Pac, _none_ of the monsters are realistic,” Octavia said, “they’re not real. Something inherently has to be real for it to be realistic.”

Pacífica nodded. “Right. Yep. But I mean like, if they were. The costumes just… anyway, it’s really ‘cause of my papa. He showed the first one to me as a kid. We watched it all the time together.” 

Octavia smiled softly. "That's really sweet… you know, I actually read one of his articles the other day. The one about that psycho in Hell's Kitchen. He's a pretty badass journalist."

"Yeah. He's a badass guy in general," Pacífica chuckled. "Not a lot of people can say that about their dad."

"Not a lot of people can say much good about their dad at all," Octavia replied. "Hey, do you want popcorn?"

"Ooh, yeah," Pacífica nodded. "Top cabinets, on the left." By the time Octavia returned with a bowl brimming with buttery goodness, Pacífica had already switched the source over, navigating to the beginning credits of _Monster Ball 2: Homecoming_. 

Octavia grabbed the blanket off the bed, draping it over the both of them after she had closed the blinds. “Ugh, I can’t do horror movies…” 

Pacífica smiled, scootching a little closer for warmth. "It's not that scary. But I'll be here if you need me."

Octavia grinned, rolling her eyes. They settled in silently for a little while, Pacífica's eyes glued on the screen as the camera panned through a fog-covered forest, opening onto a high school deep in the woods that could out-goth Notre Dame. Pacífica had this movie practically memorized anyway. But it was still hard to focus. Octavia's legs were bouncing as if she were spring-loaded, ready to jump up and run at the first sign of danger to the young, beautiful protagonist now wandering aimlessly through the woods. Pacífica chuckled, putting a hand on her leg. "Octavia, the movie _just_ started."

Just then, the music peaked, and a lumbering figure bristling with fur emerged from the treeline. Octavia jumped, clinging around Pacífica's lanky shoulders as the beast stalked closer to its prey. 

The heroine stepped back in shock, but froze. "Warren! What are you doing out here? We're not supposed to be seen together~"

"I don't care, baby," the towering werewolf replied, leaning down to plant a kiss on her thin red lips. "I know your clan forbids our love. A bond between werewolves and vampires cannot be. But even though we're only juniors in high school, I know we'll be in love for all eternity… come to the homecoming dance with me…"

"Oh, Warren," the girl cooed. Octavia gagged, but Pacífica couldn't help but grin, leaning into the arms still draped around her. 

As the popcorn started to get cold, Vanessa (the vampire) had to fight off all kinds of monster boys trying to take her to homecoming, and woo her affections away from Warren Wulf, who was of course the school's best quarterback. But with the help of Gabriella and Wanda, her two less attractive best friends, they uncovered an evil wizard's plot to summon an army of evil monsters, real monsters, to ruin the homecoming game once and for all. But for maybe the first time in her life, Pacífica couldn't focus on the movie at all. 

She looked down at Octavia, nestled into her shoulder, her perfect hair all frizzled up by the blankets, her shirt coming untucked. She had always thought Octavia was pretty, but in a statue at a museum sort of way, pristine, perfect. Certainly too perfect for a dorky-ass DJ like herself. But not a lot of people understood her quite like Octavia did. They'd both grown up with family who didn't speak a lot of English, they both had a draw for music. And since both of them had _extremely_ Catholic lineage, neither one could really talk to their family about liking girls. Pacífica had tried once, when she was 15, just mentioning it casually. Papa didn't get mad, like she had feared, and like she'd heard stories of so many times before. But he didn't really understand either. And she certainly didn't have any good friends in public school. It wasn't until she'd met Octavia that someone else understood. 

She was shaken from her thoughts by the jump of Octavia against her side. An army of zombies stormed from the foggy woods, overtaking the school's common grounds. Vanessa screamed helplessly as Wanda was grabbed on either side by snarling zombies, tearing into her neck. Vanessa stood frozen in place before a tall, mysterious figure swept her away from the scene. Pacífica turned to take Octavia's hand. "Hey… you okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded, hiding her face in Pacífica's shoulder. "Just… eugh…"

Pacífica smiled. "Sorry. But it's just about over. And my favorite scene is coming up."

Octavia nodded. "Thanks for being here, Pac…" She slowly lifted her head, as Vanessa and the mysterious figure swept away to the catacombs deep beneath the school. 

"Who are you?" Vanessa cried out into the darkness. "Why did you save me?" 

As the music began to climax again, a dark silhouette crept from the corners of the tombs. The light hit its face, revealing ragged green skin, and the glimmer of iron bolts. "Frank?"

"Yes, Vanessa," Frank replied. "I've been keeping a watchful eye on you."

"But… I thought you were one of them!" Vanessa said, as Pacífica began to silently repeat the words. "One of the undead!"

"I was supposed to be," Frank mused, pressing a hand to his temple. "The dark wizard's finest creation… the intellect of a doctor… the body of a high school senior. But he never anticipated that I would know love."

Pacífica feigned a gasp. "What are you talking about?" Vanessa said. 

"I love you, Vanessa," Frank replied, stepping forward to take her hands. "And I want you to go to homecoming with me."

"But… but…" Pacífica stammered, "I'm going to homecoming with Warren! He's my boyfriend, and he's been _very_ good to me."

"Warren is a lapdog," Frank scoffed. "He'd roll over for anyone, certainly for the dark wizard. Not to mention he'd fetch any old bone he was thrown, if you catch my drift. But Vanessa, you have given me life like the dark wizard never could have. For the first time in my short life, I can feel my heart beating in my chest, beneath the floorboards of my ribs. And it beats for you, Vanessa."

Vanessa slowly stepped towards him. "I… don't know what to say."

"Just say yes," Pacífica replied, as Frank took her hands in his own. "Come to homecoming dance with me. And together, we can defeat the dark wizard, and avenge Wanda." 

She turned to look at Octavia, with dramatic intensity in her eyes. But Octavia was already looking back at her, smiling as she shook her head. "You're such a dork."

They both laughed, looking into each other's eyes. Their smiles faded, but they couldn't quite pull away from each other. Pacífica looked down at Octavia's lips for a split second. Octavia bit her lip. As the music swelled once again, Pacífica leaned in a little closer, resting her hand on Octavia's cheek, tilting just a bit to one side. Octavia leaned in too, as both their eyes blocked out the movie in front of them. But just as Pacífica felt Octavia's warm breath on her lips, Octavia stopped, her breath catching in her throat. Pacífica slowly opened her eyes, blushing deeply as they met Octavia's. Octavia gently shook her head, sighing softly as she rested her forehead against Pacífica's. "I'm sorry…"

"No, I… yeah," Pacífica replied, forcing herself to pull away from Octavia's face. "Do you… still wanna keep watching?"

Octavia nodded, still holding Pacífica's hand as she settled back into her shoulder. "Yeah. But you may have to catch me up a little," she smiled.

The two of them sat bundled up through the climax, as Vanessa and Frank stormed a dance floor overflowing with zombies. Frank blasted them with lightning from his hands, as Vanessa bared her fangs and mangled neck after slimy, undead neck. Other students joined in with machetes, wooden stakes, chairs from the abandoned classrooms. The final fight was less of a battle and more of a massacre, leaving Vanessa and Frank in the middle of the football field, their suit and ballgown spattered in green gore as the surviving students around them roared in applause. Octavia grinned as the football team burst onto the field, whooping and hollering as the students and teachers filed into the stands. Warren was the last on the field, and as he turned back, he saw Vanessa and Frank, hand-in-hand as they made their way to the stands. Vanessa locked eyes with him. But Warren only nodded in respect, a single tear rolling down his furry cheek as he turned away, charging onto the field. As the credits began to roll, and a 90s style hip-hop ballad began to play, Pacífica gently shifted away, stretching out as she shucked the blanket off her shoulder. "So… what did you think?"

Octavia sat in silence for a while. "Oh, it was fun! But… I don't get why she didn't just stay with Warren."

"Oh, are you kidding?" Pacífica laughed. "Frank Enstein is _such_ a dreamboat! He's smart, he's hot, he's mysterious, he can shoot fuckin' _lightning_ from his hands. And Jerrold von Pickney, the actor they got to play him? I _swoon_."

"But Warren was a good guy! Sure, he wasn't the brightest, but he was really sweet. I'm sure it wasn't easy being in a forbidden romance like that. Besides, Vanessa promised they'd go to the dance together, and she broke her promise."

Pacífica rolled her eyes. "Well, Vanessa's just a skank." She hopped up from the bed. "Hey, do you still wanna grab dinner?"

"Yeah, I'll find a place. You've still gotta pack," Octavia grinned.

* * *

Pacífica and Octavia walked side by side down the busy sidewalks of Mulberry Street, as Pacífica nursed a snow cone in one hand. She glanced around at all the signs advertising "I♡NY" stickers and t-shirts, or a pizzeria here, a cafe there, tucked in between massage parlors and nail salons. "You know, I thought you said this place was dying," Pacífica said, smiling as she spun in a circle to look around. "I see a lot of cool stores here. And they're all packed, too."

"Oh, there's plenty of people," Octavia replied, with a forlorn smile. "But look closer. What do you see?"

Pacífica squinted her eyes, staring intensely into the crowds at Da Gennaro. She locked eyes with a portly, pale red-headed gentleman wearing a Statue of Liberty sweater, who just waved awkwardly after a second. Pacífica turned her head away, looking back down at Octavia. "I don't get it. Does someone have, like, a gun I don't see?"

Octavia chuckled, and shook her head. "They're not Italian. Not even the waiters. Just a bunch of tourists." She sighed softly, walking briskly ahead. "I know it shouldn't bother me. I guess I get it from my family, a bit. But… I dunno. My _nonna_ came over to America in fuckin' 1959. We've lived on these streets for almost 60 years. It wasn't like back in the '20s or '30s or anything, but we still had a bit of New York to call our own. Now we're just a little slice of Chinatown."

Pacífica nodded, as Octavia moved a little further up the sidewalk. "Yeah. I'm sorry." She sat silently for a while, as they both moved through the crowds. "I guess I don't exactly know what that's like. But. I was two years old when Papa and I came here. We didn't really have anyone to talk to. Anywhere to call home. I barely remember Tijuana at all. Mostly that it was hot as balls. But I still kinda wonder what life would be like if we didn't have to move."

Octavia smiled. "Well, I don't know who I'd be learning music with, for one thing."

Pacífica chuckled. "Yeah…" 

As the two walked in silence a little longer, Octavia hopped up onto the steps of an apartment building. "Well, this is my stop," she smiled. "Did you wanna say hi to the family?"

"Sure," Pacífica replied. "But before we go in… can we talk?"

"Sure…?" Octavia said, pausing curiously. "What did you wanna talk about?"

"You know," Pacífica said. This should have been so easy, but she had to clasp her hands together to keep them from shaking. "With the movie."

Octavia blushed, looking towards the door. "Oh, right."

"I mean, we can forget about it, if you want," Pacífica said, glancing over her shoulder.

"No, you're right. I've been thinking about that." She took a breath, and looked up at Pacífica again. "So, Pac. What was that? Was it nothing?"

Pacífica stammered. Damn it, this had been her idea, she couldn't screw this up now. "I mean… I did get kind of caught up in the moment. Actually trying to kiss you was… a surprise even to me. But." She sighed, rubbing her clammy hands together. "I've always thought you were pretty, Octavia. And _way_ the hell out of my league. So I don't know, honestly. But. I think whatever it was. I could make it work if you wanted." She smiled, looking down at the ground as she blushed. "We wouldn't have to tell Papa, or your family, or anyone. It could just be us, you know?"

Octavia smiled, standing on her tiptoes to brush Pacífica's cheek. "Pac… that's really sweet. And for the record, you are not out of my league. You play _cool_ shit, I'm a double bass player. Besides, you're tall as hell. And I know that drives most girls crazy. But…" she sighed softly. "I don't wanna have to hide from my family. They're important to me. I want…" she shook her head, sniffling. "I _need_ them to be proud of me. After everything they've done for me to be here." She took a deep breath, looking up at Pacífica again. "And… I _do_ like you, Pacífica. You're a weird, _cool_ girl, and you're my closest friend. But I just don't know if I… You know, _like_ you. I mean, I don't _not_ like you, but…" she sighed, hiding her face in her hands. "Fuck. I'm sorry, Pac. I'm a fucking mess right now."

Pacífica chuckled, bringing her hands up to move Octavia's off her face, holding them gently in front of her. " _No hay problema_. We can still be friends, right?"

Octavia smiled, squeezing her hands. "Come on. _Mamma_ 's gonna love to see you again."

* * *

Pacífica leaned against the rail overhead, as the subway churned its way out of Manhattan. Octavia was right, that double bass _was_ a bitch to move. They'd spent dinner with a six-foot case leaned up against one of the chairs, and a subway ride for three. The worst part was trying to squeeze it into the taxi for the last leg home. Good thing those Crown Vics had enough space for a fuckin' body. Still, _mamma_ 's alfredo had made it all worth it. She probably wouldn't have to eat for the rest of the day. Didn't mean she wouldn't, though. Esteban Ramirez, among his other talents, made a mean sopaipilla. 

Her head perked up at the sound of a chime overhead. "Now arriving at Marcy Avenue Station, Brooklyn. Please, stand clear of the doors." She grabbed her suitcase, shuffling her way towards the entrance, dropping a quick buck in the cap of a man playing the drums by the door. The J train smoothly came to a halt, and as soon as the doors creaked open, unleashed a deluge of passengers onto the station. 

Pacífica swam through the crowds of people, almost skipping down the wrought-iron steps as she took in a deep breath of fresh air. Well, fresh as it came around here, at least. Manhattan may have had the lion's share of the glitzy lights, and the famous crowds. But that made Manhattan into something like the skin of the Big City, its face, its hair and eyes. To Pacífica, Brooklyn was the city's real heart. And this was home. Well, not quite. The train out of Chinatown let out a little further north than she had realized. 

After a bit of walking, she quickly got bored, and snagged a taxi, staring out at the lines of red brick buildings scrawled with graffiti until her red brick building scrawled with graffiti popped up around the corner. She signed out a quick thank you, rolled out of the back seat of the taxi, and lugged her suitcase up the last flight of steps into the building. After all this time, she was so close. She was beaming as she rode the lonely elevator up to the 4th floor, her hands flapping in excitement. It was a bad habit, Papa told her, but no one was around to care. The old iron doors clinked open, and she zipped over to room 413, yanking on the doorknob. But the door clanked firmly in its lock.

Huh. It made sense that he would keep the doors locked most of the time. But Papa knew she was coming home today, right? She knocked on the door. "Papa? _Soy yo_ , Pacífica." She waited, but still, there was no response. Not even the shuffle of footsteps inside. "Papa?" She started to fear the worst, but she had to shake those thoughts away. He was safe, she'd made sure of that. Maybe he was just sleeping. Still. She had one more trick to try. She left her suitcase in the hallway, stepping down the stairs to knock on the door to room 313. Pacífica immediately heard barking inside the house, frothing with fury like only a small dog could. After a few moments, Pacífica could hear slow footsteps shuffling towards the door, mumbling the whole way. 

The door opened, and a small, cranky-looking old lady appeared in the gap, her greying brown hair swept back under a scarf, holding back a rabid-looking Boston Terrier with one foot. She looked up, and her expression immediately changed. "Pacífica? Oh, it's been so long!" she smiled, hoisting her dog up off the floor. 

"Hello, Mrs. Gaddis," Pacífica replied. "Hey, buddy." She reached out to pet the dog, which only growled and snapped at her hand. "Ay, _puta_. Um. Can I use your window?"

Mrs. Gaddis laughed. "Pacífica! That's no way to say hello on your first day back! Come in, come in, I'll make you some tea."

"Mrs. Gaddis, please," Pacífica said. "This is… important. I'm worried something's wrong with Papa."

Mrs. Gaddis's expression sobered. "Oh. Yes, of course. Well, I'll put a kettle on anyway. You know where to find it, just be careful." As she slipped away to the kitchen, Pacífica beelined for the outside balcony, carefully climbing up onto the thin railing, trying to ignore the fact that if she fell, it was three stories before she landed on concrete. She took a deep breath and leapt up, her hands wrapping around the cold iron rails of the 4th story balcony. She heaved a sigh of relief, hanging for a moment before she scrambled up. She jimmied the lock on the balcony door, and slipped inside their apartment.

A thin layer of dust hung over every surface, wafted airborne by the breeze coming in from the balcony. Save for herself, the apartment was perfectly still. She took off her shoes, leaving them by the balcony door as she quietly closed it behind her. She snuck out of Papa's room, and into the main hall. The door into the hall had already been open, but it wasn't until Pacífica peeked her head out that she saw the fullness of the damage. 

A thick pile of newspapers had been scattered all across the dining room, knocked off of the overturned table. The spice rack hung loosely off the walls, and as her pace quickened into the room, she could feel the grinding of salt beneath her toes. "Papa? Papa!" she called out, her voice turning ragged and hoarse. She spun around the little apartment, hoping to catch just a glimpse of him in the corner of her eye. But the room was still deadly quiet. She sprinted down the hallway, opening the door to the one last place she hadn't checked. Her old statuettes and figures had fallen onto the carpet of her old bedroom, the furniture all jostled out of place. But there was no trace of Esteban Ramirez. Only, in the center of her bed, a single silver gun, with an alabaster skull wrapped in filigree on its grip. 


End file.
